Hugh Glass - Bruce Bradley

by Bruce Bradley

  "Who's left?"

  "You and me, Potter, Sanders, Tyler, and Tom Halpern. McBride and Newlan were alive, but they were wounded. Soon as they dropped their weapons the pirates murdered them, because they couldn't work. Hacked `em to pieces."

  "They will be punished," Tom Halpern again. "The Lord, God, will punish them!"

  "If they killed Newlan and McBride because they couldn't work," Hugh asked Hastings, "then why am I still alive?"

  "They knew you'd come `round, sooner or later. You killed someone named Tully. None of them could believe it. I think they want to take your measure before they let you die. I don't know what they have planned. They used those of us who were able-bodied to move the cargo off the Gallant and onto this hell-bucket. When we were done they made us watch while they sent her to the bottom."

  "They blew her up, Captain," Halpern added, speaking softly, "blew her to Hades. There will be a reckoning, you can be certain of it!"

  Glass started to protest the use of the title again, then gave up. The men wanted a leader, someone they could rally around. He was the logical choice.

  "How long ago did they sink her?" he asked at length.

  "A day, I think," Hastings told him. "It's hard to tell down here in the dark. From the amount of time and the noise topside, a day seems right."

  They were silent for awhile as each man pondered what the coming hours-or minutes-might hold for them. At any moment they might be taken out and put to death, or put to work, as the pirates saw fit to do. They were being kept alive for something. Slave labor seemed likely.

  ***

  In the closeness of the hold the heat was suffocating, the smell intolerable. The constant pounding in his head and the odor of unwashed, bloodied bodies brought waves of nausea to Hugh Glass, but he managed to choke it back.

  It was impossible to tell the passage of time. In darkness, minutes can seem as hours, hours can be days. Twice the pirates lowered food and water to them. At first Hugh took only some of the water. The second time, he was feeling a little better and managed to eat a little food.

  He could not believe the number of cuts he had sustained. He remembered getting nicked a few times during the fight, but now it seemed as though every inch of skin on his chest, arms, back, and legs had a small gash on it. Where the skin had begun to knit back together, it pulled at every movement. There was no way to tell if any of these were infected. Only time would tell if that were the case.

  During this time, the men spoke often of their families. Tom Halpern, pious and stem, had no family. He spent the hours quoting the Bible and praying. Always devout, with a shock of gray near the middle of his forehead, Halpern seemed less than suited for a sailors life. Hugh Glass had often wondered that Halpern had not become a preacher. The man had a temper, but for someone who spouted Hellfire and brimstone, that didn't really seem like much of a drawback. There was something in his voice now that Glass found vaguely disturbing, but the men seemed to find Halpern's words comforting, so he said nothing.

  He wasn't aware just when it happened, but the pounding in his head ceased, even though his lacerated skin continued to pull painfully whenever he moved. At least it was something.

  ***

  He awoke suddenly, sore and confused. Bright, painful light flooded the hold. It took Hugh a moment to remember where he was. An unfamiliar voice, deep and gravelly, yelled down at them.

  "All right, you men! Up on deck!"

  Slowly, their aching bodies making it hard to move, the six men hauled themselves up onto the deck of the Madalaine. It was midmorning. The air and the sea were still, with just the hint of a breeze coming from the south. The brightness of the sun hurt the men's eyes, but the light breeze and the fresh air felt so good to them that they hardly noticed. A dozen men stood around them, all well-armed. Even the cabin boy had a pistol in his belt. Hugh recognized the small, wiry man who had shot him. The man stood several feet away, leaning against the mast, regarding Hugh with something that, to Hugh, seemed more than contempt.

  One man among them stood out. He was better dressed than the others and strikingly handsome, with eyes and hair that were both black. More than that, there was a quality about him that was somehow instantly magnetic. It astounded Hugh Glass that, although they were strangers and enemies, he felt a sudden liking for the man.

  "Well, Captain," gravel-voice said, "this bunch is certainly ripe enough!"

  The rest of the pirates laughed. Hugh looked at his comrades. They were, indeed, a sight. All of them, including Hugh, were covered with filth and dried blood. Hugh was glad that the breeze carried the scent away from him.

  Something about Tom Halpern bothered him. Always devoutly religious and very proud, the man shook visibly. It wasn't fear that caused this. Halpern's eyes burned with hatred. He looked insane.

  "You men of the Gallant!" It was the man with the black hair. "I am Captain Michele Renoux--master of the Madalaine and third in command of Jean Lafitte's privateers! You men have been sentenced to die!" Renoux spoke the words simply, in a voice accustomed to English but definitely French. The men next to Hugh looked from one to another in shock. Hugh kept his own eyes on Renoux. There's more, he thought. There has to be more. They didn't keep us alive this long for nothing.

  "It is a shame to lose such brave men," Renoux continued, "but that is how it must be. You men are our enemies, and our enemies cannot be allowed to live.

  Still, you fought well against us. Your efforts .... cost the lives of many of my men. That leaves us shorthanded, which means more work for the rest of my crew, and my crew," he looked around the ship at the faces of his men, "would rather drink rum than work."

  The pirates all laughed in agreement.

  "At their request," Renoux went on, "I am prepared to offer you one chance to live. You must relinquish your former loyalties. You will swear complete obedience and loyalty to this ship and Jean Lafitte, as well as to me, Michele Renoux. You must do this if you would live. Decide now."

  Hugh Glass thought for only a moment. He looked at his comrades, all of whom seemed to be in shock.

  "Well lads," he said quietly, "it seems we're caught betwixt the deep blue sea.... and the devil. Remember, where there's life, there's hope."

  Tom Halpern threw him a sharp look.

  "You would consider it?" he said angrily. "You would sign with this offal? After watching them butcher men you worked and toiled and laughed with for two years? Good men? Men who looked up to you? Good God-!"

  "I would consider staying alive," Hugh told him, "and I would advise you to do the same!"

  "ENOUGH!" Renoux stopped them. "Decide."

  "I'll take life," Hugh said solemnly.

  "I'll take death!" Halpern fairly spat the words at him. He continued to glare at Hugh as, one by one, the other men made their choices. Three of them chose, like Tom Halpern, to die rather than sign aboard with the pirates. Only one other man, Clint Hastings, chose as Hugh did, to live.

  "Very well," Renoux said at length, "You have made your choices. You and you," he indicated Hugh and Clint, "stand over there. You will see what you have saved yourselves from."

  Following his directions, the two men moved over to the port railing. For the first time Hugh noticed the ship's cook. He was up near the front of the ship throwing chum--buckets of fishheads, blood, and entrails--over the side. Glancing out at the water Hugh counted the dorsal fins of almost a dozen sharks, some of them quite large.

  The other four men, those who had refused to join the crew of the Madalaine, were taken aside. Each man had his arms bound tightly behind him. Together, they were led up to the railing, near where the cook had been throwing chum into the water. The gangplank had been stretched out over the side and secured, waiting. The first man to be led to it was a powerfully built seaman named Potter. When he saw the sharks, panic spread over his features.

  "If you have any last words," Renoux told him, "speak them quickly."

  Potter's eyes were wide with fear.

/>   "I-I changed my mind," he said. "I'll join up! I'll do anythin' you want, just don't put me out there with those man eaters!"

  Renoux gave him a tired look.

  "I will have to ask my crew," the pirate said. Then, turning to the others, he spoke loudly. "Men? What shall it be? We have here a man who, minutes ago, was bravely ready to die rather than to become one of us and live the life we lead. Now...." he looked at Potter, "he pisses his breeches and begs us to let him join. What do you say?"

  The pirates all looked at each other with amused interest. In unison they turned back and yelled, "NAY-Y-Y!"

  "Very well," Renoux said, turning back to Potter. "You have heard the verdict. You made the choice. Go now and be eaten."

  Potter was in shock. Several of the pirates moved toward him, intending to lift him onto the plank. Suddenly he came alive with the determination that they would not put him into the water. His arms bound behind him, the sailor could only kick and bite at his assailants, but this he did ferociously. Instinctively, Hugh started forward to help his shipmate.

  "I don't think you'd be wantin' to do that, mate!" a voice next to him said. Hugh turned to see the small, wiry man, the one who had shot him. The man spoke the words quietly, but his pistol resting an inch from Hugh's ear made the message plain enough.

  "Don't think I could miss you a second time," the man said. "Not at this range."

  Seething, Hugh sighed with disgust and stepped back.

  Potter, meanwhile, had managed to injure two of the pirates in a way that might have an effect on their future generations, and had shattered the kneecap of another. The pirates who were watching from the sidelines thought this was great sport. They roared with hilarity at the damage Potter inflicted upon their friends.

  When, in the end, Potter was hauled still-kicking onto the gangplank, the man whose knee he had ruined limped forward. With his cutlass, the man gave Potter a wicked slash on his thigh.

  "There!" he said angrily. "That'll give the beasties somethin' to lick at!"

  Using poles, the pirates slowly forced Potter out to the end of the gangplank. Potter was silent now, his concentration focused on pushing against the poles and maintaining his balance. When he was at the end, he desperately tried pleading once more.

  "Please!" he yelled. "Don't! I'll do anythin'! ANYTHIN'! I'll--!"

  Then he was off the end of the plank. He went into the water screaming and came up again, spitting and screaming incoherently. His panicked, awkward kicking drew the sharks quickly to him. Hugh tried to look away.

  "Watch!" the wiry man ordered. "The captain wants you to see!"

  Hugh glared at the man for several seconds before, sickened, he turned back to look at the water. He was in time to see Potter pulled under the surface, still very much alive. The sharks, driven to a frenzy by the chum, came at him from all sides. Potter continued to kick at them until finally one of the sharks managed to get his head into its mouth. The body of the man gave one final, convulsive kick. Then it went limp.

  "He was a good man," Hugh heard himself say.

  "Aye!" the small man agreed. "And you see what happens to good men aboard this ship! Good men fall, here. Bad ones rise." He pushed the pistol hard against Hugh's ear. "I hope you're a good man," the pirate told him.

  With the feeling that all of his senses had gone dead inside him, Hugh continued to watch as the other three men were brought forward, all to fight for the last moments of their life. His mind scarcely registered what he saw. Instead, he saw Potter working hard on the deck of the Gallant, sweating heavily from exertion. Then he saw him in the quiet times, in the evening, smoking his pipe and talking of his home and family. Potter had been a good man--too good for the end he'd been given. They all were.

  Only Tom Halpern refused to play the game the pirates had devised. When his turn came, he walked with dignity to the gangplank and allowed himself to be lifted up. Hugh would remember this later, in the hundreds of times his mind would replay the scene. For the moment, though, his mind was still far away.

  "HUGH GLASS!"

  At the sound of his name, Hugh's head snapped up and he came back to the present.

  "MISTER GLASS!"

  The crew went suddenly still.

  Halpern stood upon the gangplank, glaring at Hugh. When he spoke again, his words were barely more than a whisper, but there was vehement menace in them that made them seem loud.

  "Life .... you have chosen," he began, "....and life you have. But on my soul, as God is in Heaven, it will not be an easy life. You will know pain and suffering and hardship of every sort. You will NEVER know peace. And when you do die, you will die bloody. Remember these words. They are the last words of a dying man, the last I will ever speak!"

  The words were like a physical force. Hugh felt them strike somewhere in his midsection and impact there. In his numbed, guilt-ridden state, they seemed as weapons. He had no defense against them.

  Having finished his say, Tom Halpern took two long strides and leapt off the end of the gangplank. He went into the water and never rose again to the surface.

  The crew of the Madalaine had suddenly become quiet. Hugh could hear them muttering amongst themselves.

  "....not a good sign," said one.

  "Dead man's words...." another mumbled. Hugh didn't care. It didn't matter what they thought, and he no longer cared what happened to him.

  When it was over, Renoux walked over to where the last two remaining members of the crew of the Gallant stood. He gave Hugh an appraising look.

  "Well!" he said at length, still regarding Hugh. "That was certainly a curse that took, wasn't it!"

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE TIDE rose and broke within him, but failed to cleanse or free him. He felt it rise again, swelling inside him until he thought he would burst from a quiet, unspeakable despair. Day after day he labored, working himself to exhaustion in an attempt to wash away the darkness that had come into his life. Nothing helped. No amount of hard work or exertion purged him. It seemed that a murkiness had entered his soul and, soiling it, remained there.

  In time, he would come to know himself a murderer. The fact that he had little choice in his crimes would do nothing to exonerate him.

  The port of Campeche was located on Galveston Island, just off the coast of Texas. It was an unwelcoming place, heavily fortified against attack, either by sea or from the mainland. Most of the structures were tents, and only a couple of the buildings were constructed of lumber. Lafitte's Maison Rouge was one, the Bucket 0' Blood, another. Hugh sat in a corner of the tavern drinking a "flip", a drink made from beer, brandy, and sugar. He was mildly drunk. Outside, a hot, hard rain pelted the island. Inside, it was sweltering.

  More than anyone Hugh Glass had ever met, Renoux was a puzzle. Intensely charismatic, the Frenchman could have been anything he wanted. He would have risen to the top of any profession he chose. A man of tremendous ability, he was dynamic, with a magnetism that rivaled Lafitte himself. He could have been a great statesman, a leader...

  But he had chosen a darker, more violent role for himself. In time, Hugh Glass grew to hate him for it.

  "You're one of the men from the Madalaine."

  Hugh came up with a start. He had been deep within himself, where he seemed to spend most of his time, these days. Charlotte Travers, the owner of the Bucket 0' Blood, stood a few feet away. She was a tall woman, big-busted, with bright red hair. A handsome woman.

  It hadn't been a question. "I am," Hugh said simply.

  "Mind if I sit down?"

  "It's your place," he told her. Hugh had no craving for company.

  Charlotte nodded to the bartender, then sat down across from Hugh. The bar tender brought them drinks. Hugh started to pay. Charlotte Travers stopped him. "On the house," she told him. Hugh eyed her suspiciously. He had been with the pirates for less than six months, but that was more than enough time to learn that nothing in Campeche ever came free.

  "It's all right," she reassured. "It's good
business to buy customers a drink now and then. Besides, I want to get a good look at the man who took down Patrick Tully."

  Hugh said nothing. He'd heard the name several times over the past months. It was the name of the huge pirate he had killed aboard the Gallant, just before he'd been shot.

  Charlotte Travers continued to regard him. Hugh said nothing to her. Finally, she downed her drink and stood up.

  "Watch out for yourself, Hugh Glass," she told him. "When you killed Tully, you made yourself a very dangerous enemy. If you drop your guard, Weasel will kill you."

  Hugh thanked her for the drink.

  Weasel--Henry Weissel--was the small, wiry man that shot Hugh and put an end to the fighting aboard the Gallant. Hugh had seen the man watching him as he worked, taking his measure. Weasel had tried to kill him and had missed. Hugh had the feeling he would try again. Charlotte Travers' words came as no surprise. The surprise was that she had bothered to warn him at all.

  He finished his drink and went outside, nodding to Charlotte and the bartender as he made his exit. Outside, he stood in the dark and let the rain beat down upon him. Campeche was a dismal place, not because of locale--the setting was beautiful. The inhabitants made it ugly. All the worst attributes of humanity thrived here. Lafitte had given these men a license for pettiness, treachery, cruelty, and murder. Like pestilence, they prospered.

  Hugh shook himself, trying to eliminate the dark feelings and thoughts. It didn't work. They clung to him. He looked out in the direction of the mainland, unable to see it through the rain.

  I could always swim for it, he thought.

  He doubted he would get very far. Not that the mainland was that far away, for it wasn't. What was on the mainland was what he would have to worry about. Over a thousand miles of wilderness lay between here and St. Louis, all of it crawling with indians. The Karankawas were the closest, and they kept a constant eye on Campeche. Hugh had heard that many tribes of indians practiced cannibalism, for ceremonial purposes. The Karankawas were different. As Cobb, the gravel-voiced Third Mate put it, "They like long pork!" They ate human flesh simply because they enjoyed it.